Dorian stood on the rooftop, his eyes locked onto the distant glow of the moon as it began to rise above the horizon. The air was thick with the scent of impending rain, and the city beneath him pulsed with life—unaware of the dark, ancient curse that bound him to its streets. The weight of it always settled deep in his bones when the moon came into view, and tonight was no different. He felt the familiar pull, like an invisible chain, tugging at his very soul.

He clenched his fists, trying to steady the rising storm within him. The transformation was coming—he could feel it in his bones, hear it in the ragged breaths that escaped his lips. The beast within stirred, stretching its claws in anticipation, eager to break free. Dorian knew it was pointless to fight it. No matter how hard he tried to resist, the curse always won. It always had. And tonight, he was afraid it would be worse than ever.

For most, the curse of the werewolf was a tale as old as time. A single bite on a full moon, and the victim would become a creature of nightmare—a monster with bloodlust, controlled only by the cycles of the moon. But for Dorian, it was far more than a curse—it was an ancient, unforgiving magic that was bound to his bloodline, one that had been passed down for generations, always twisted, always destructive. His transformation didn't follow the usual rules. It didn't just take him over during the full moon; it clawed its way into his every waking moment, threatening to swallow him whole.

It wasn't always this way. Once, Dorian had been human—normal, as far as anyone could tell. He had dreams, ambitions, a future. He had never believed in the supernatural, never thought he'd be drawn into the hidden world of werewolves, magic, and curses. But one fateful night had changed everything. One bite had shattered his life, and he had spent the years since running from himself, fighting the beast within. But no matter how far he ran, the moon always found him.

The curse was ancient—one that had been cast long before he had even been born. It wasn't a simple curse of the werewolf kind; it was something darker, something more potent. There were whispers among the underground circles of magic users, rumors of an ancient bloodline that had been forever marked by a powerful ritual—a ritual that bound the werewolf curse not just to a single individual, but to the very heart of the family. A ritual that created a beast of legend, a creature that would be bound to the moon's cycles but grow stronger with every passing year.

Dorian didn't know the full details of the ritual. No one did. All he knew was that it had cursed his ancestors long ago, and now, it was his turn to pay the price. The transformation wasn't just physical; it was mental, emotional, spiritual. It consumed him, turning him into something…other. Something he didn't fully understand. The anger, the hunger—it all felt like a separate entity, a force that sought to claim his body and soul.

As the moon climbed higher into the sky, Dorian could feel it again—the cold touch of the curse wrapping around him like a vice. His heart raced, and a low growl rumbled deep in his chest. He needed to get out of the city. He needed to be alone, away from the chaos, away from the danger. But it was too late for that. The transformation had already begun.

His skin tingled as the first wave of the change hit. Bones shifted, muscles tightened, and his senses exploded into overdrive. He could smell everything—the distant scent of rain, the musk of the city's underbelly, the faintest hint of fear from the humans below. But the most overpowering scent was the one that came from within. The hunger. The craving. The beast.

Dorian stumbled back from the edge of the roof, his body wracked with the painful shift. His vision blurred, and his hearing sharpened. His claws dug into the concrete as his body grew, his muscles expanding, his senses heightened. The sound of his heart pounding filled his ears, drowning out everything else. He wasn't just changing. He was becoming something…worse. A monster.

But he couldn't afford to lose himself to the beast. Not tonight. Not when there was so much at stake.

For years, Dorian had searched for a way to end the curse. He had tried everything—ancient texts, powerful magic, even bargaining with the supernatural forces that ruled the world. But each time, he had come up empty. The curse was too deep, too old. No one knew how to break it. And as the nights wore on and the moons passed, he found himself growing weaker, his control slipping more and more with each passing transformation.

That's when he found the first clue—the first hint that there might be a way to end it all. Hidden in the ancient archives of the city's magical underworld, Dorian had uncovered a fragment of a ritual—an old, forgotten spell that had been used centuries ago to break the curse. It was dangerous, cryptic, and incomplete. But it was his only hope.

Now, as the transformation completed, Dorian fought to maintain control. His vision cleared, his breathing slowed, and the pain in his bones subsided. The beast within him still raged, but he had learned how to suppress it—just enough to think clearly, to plan his next move.

There was no time to waste. The ritual was real, and it was his last chance. But he wasn't the only one who wanted it. There were others—those who had made deals with dark forces and wanted the power of the curse for themselves. They would stop at nothing to keep him from succeeding.

Dorian knew that the battle ahead would be the hardest of his life. The curse wasn't just a personal struggle anymore. It was a war, one that would decide the fate of not just him, but the entire city.

And as the last of the moon's light bathed him in its eerie glow, Dorian made a vow: he would find the ritual. He would break the curse. Or he would die trying.